To the average secular-music fan in his or her 30s, the term "Christian rock" probably still conjures cringe-inducing memories of cloyingly beatific odes to the Almighty, poofy-haired metal dudes in yellow and black stripes, and Petra. And the term "Christian hip-hop" probably just sounds too ludicrous to think about. The Daniel Band aside, the general truth about the spiritual pop music of the last generation is that it expended inordinately more effort on the "Christian" than it did on the "rock," and suffered the predictable result of being both off-putting to non-Christians and bad anyway.
While that trend certainly does continue, there's a new breed of born-again musician attracting fans from the spiritual and secular realms by putting at least as much emphasis on the music as on the message. These players don't consider themselves Christian artists, but rather artists who are also Christians. While the pop-rock group D.C. Talk opened the door a bit for mainstream success in the mid-'90s (and Creed and Evanescence wriggled through later, lubricated by some conspicuously ambiguous references to religious belief), this new generation of acts flourishes most noticeably amid the underground all-ages scene, where punk bands play churches, hardcore acts deliver uplifting lyrics with death-metal screams, and even a genre as streetwise as rap is represented by MCs as talented as they are committed to Christ in their personal lives.
"I want my music to minister to people, but more than that, I want my life to be my tool of ministry," says rapper Playdough. "If my music is a reflection of who I am, then that's great. But I want to be known first and foremost as someone who makes quality hip-hop music. If people don't respect you, it doesn't matter what the subject matter is. I earn respect for my music first.
"I don't feel like I have to fit Jesus' name in there five times for it to be considered Christian enough."
Now 28 and living in Dallas, Playdough first heard hip-hop as 12-year-old Doug Krum in the tiny North Texas town of Dorger, and embraced it immediately. He's been a rapper for more than 15 years, but he's been a Christian even longer.
"I grew up in the church," he says. "My music has always been a reflection of my spirituality."
Those immediately inclined to dismiss the concept of hip-hop performed by a white Texan who's dedicated his life to Jesus as beneath consideration aren't exactly making an uninformed judgment. They've got legions of sub-par Christian acts, and more than a few truly horrible white MCs, to back their assumptions. Look at the evidence; they say this is probably gonna suck.
Fortunately, Playdough doesn't.
His material as a solo artist and member of currently on-hiatus trio Ill Harmonics recalls an older, more classic ebb-and-flow school of delivery than that of either underground rap's complex wordplay or sloganeering, airplay-targeted mainstream fare. Yet the music provides a new edge through its use of homemade guitar loops (he handles much of his own production), and a fresh and often funny lyrical perspective. There's also plenty of heat being thrown- Playdough was Dallas' reigning rhyme-battle champion in 2004, and knows how to deliver a clever dis.
In fact, fans who don't pay close attention might not know they're listening to a Christian man at all.
"A lot of times, you think it's your job to save people, that your music has to be your ministry," he says. "I kind of realized it's not up to me … it's whether or not God is calling them at that time. I just try to be honest, even if it's something that other Christians look down on … sometimes [Christians] come across like you're perfect, that you have it all together. You have to let people know you're all the same."
By leaning more heavily on his own life and struggles with faith and culture than on Christianity itself, Playdough and other artists like him are actively endeavoring to do more than preach to the converted. He finds the insular model for Christian rock built during the '70s and '80s frustrating, and sees it as far more divisive than welcoming.
"People thought that, to be successful in the market, you can't be too original," he remembers. "There's nothing to compare you to, you're not as successful if you do your own thing. You have to be the Christian version of Eminem, of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They even have cards at some Christian bookstores that say, 'sounds like so-and-so.' That's gay to me; I hate that. Some of the more successful bands in the Christian market are still that way, but there are others doing their own thing, and that's super cool to see."
Old habits are hard to break, however, and some born-again artists who incorporate innovative sounds or lyrical themes beyond "God is great, God is good" ironically find themselves ostracized by more rigid factions within what they thought would be their core audience.
Playdough remembers Ill Harmonics CDs being returned by more than one "cutting edge" Christian publication that refused to review them because they didn't meet some imagined minimum of overtly Jesus-referential content. It's a sad realization, and more than a little disconcerting to hear that some of the faithful apparently aren't faithful enough. But then again, it's got to be more than compensatory to get up in front of a crowd of souls both saved and secular, and see them all enjoy the music equally.
"I kind of let the Christian industry do its thing, and I know there are a lot of people there who will accept me, and a lot who won't," Playdough says. "And there are other people you alienate by calling it Christian rap, and I don't want to alienate anybody by putting labels on it.
"I'm definitely aware of it. But with me, I just like being honest. I just make the music I make. If people dig it, than it's cool, and if they don't, that's cool too."
scott.Harrell@weeklyplanet.com
This article appears in May 18-24, 2005.